


R is for Rebellion

by coolbyrne



Series: The Alphabet Series [18]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: He tries to ignore the attraction. Spoiler: It doesn't work. Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: The Alphabet Series [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909126
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71





	R is for Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> A very, VERY loose use of the word prompt, but I hope you like it. :p

The empty coffee cup sounded hollow in the near empty bullpen as he set it on his desk. The bitter black made one last lukewarm trip over his taste buds, and he savoured the reward by pressing his lips together in satisfaction before sitting back in his chair. His eyes went up to the second floor. It wasn't like he couldn't go get another cup of the special blend Jack kept stocked just for him.

(That was just his ego assuming her reason, and he was going to damn well keep assuming it until proven otherwise.)

He had already gone up 4 times that day, though she'd only know if she tried the second pot he had made on his last trip. She had been conspicuously absent, caught up in departmental meetings all day, her only communication with him being a simple text at 3PM that read, 'Help me'. 

The text had brought out the first grin of the day, and the memory of it, only the second. The realization replaced the smile with a frown. His eyes glanced around the bullpen, lowlit with everyone having gone home except McGee who was finishing up. The case had gone better than expected, which was one reason why he'd sent Torres and Bishop home early. They had a suspect in custody, rock solid evidence and a case closed in every way beyond a judge's gavel. So why was he such a Grump Ass?

The term made the frown lines deeper. Jack had given him that name, the first morning she had crashed in his guest room and had somehow woken up before he had his first coffee. Now he was calling himself the same. He could almost hear her laugh. 

Almost, but not quite, and he didn't like it. And he definitely didn't like what it meant, to know but pretend to ignore the fact that every movement from the 2nd floor caught his attention, and that when there was no movement, he tried to will one with his stare. He had an inexplicable itch all over, a nagging tightness behind his eyes, like every part of him was waging a rebellion against her absence. As if on cue, a motion pricked his peripheral and he looked up in time to see her jerk her chin in his direction, smile, and disappear through her door.

"Maybe make another visit to Agent Sloane's office," Tim suggested, snapping Gibbs out of his reverie.

The fact that his most senior agent and one of his most trusted friends would suss out the problem immediately, while carefully navigating the minefield that was Gibbs' tolerance for emotional truths shouldn't have surprised him. Still, Gibbs blinked at the blatant call-out and tried to direct the unspoken to the empty cup.

"Figure 5's is my quota."

Tim nodded, seemingly accepting the deflection. Until he slipped on his jacket, grabbed his keys and said, "Sometimes you need more than coffee, Boss." Adding nothing more, he patted his pockets and lifted an eyebrow waiting for a reply.

He wasn't going to give "Get goin', McGee." 

Knowing sometimes more was said without words, McGee smiled. "I'll see you on Monday."

Gibbs waited for the elevator to hiss shut before he looked up, grabbed his empty cup and started for the stairs.

…..

The door was partially open, as he knew it would be, and he was able to stick his head in enough to watch her at the coffee maker by the TV. She had already taken off her shoes and was running the top of her foot along the back of her calf in a way that made his fingers tingle. The spoon softly clattered back and forth as she stirred in the obscene amount of sugar that was required to make her happy, and he thought of the bag that was sitting in his cupboard, bought just for her visits. She tapped the spoon on the cup's lip, placed it on a napkin, and turned for the couch. His presence halted her step and she let out a small squeak that she immediately tried to downplay with a glare.

"You're in my bad books," she said, finishing her trip to the couch.

"Anything in particular or-?"

"You didn't rescue me like I asked," she began, holding out her hand to count the items. An index finger marked the first point. "You just about gave me a heart attack." A second finger joined the first. "And you didn't drink my coffee." A third finger finished the list and she pouted towards the pot.

He strolled into the office, feeling more relaxed than he'd had all day. Her faux indignation drew him to the couch, and after setting his cup on the table, he settled himself in the cushions. Her final accusation had him puzzled, but only briefly.

"I made that pot," he said, following her pout with a tilt of his head. 

The meaning behind his statement- that he had drank the first pot all by himself- made her 'Ah' in understanding. "That explains why my spoon wanted to stand up in the cup." His blank, unamused stare was met with a laugh. "Fine. But I reserve the right to be mad at you for not rescuing me. And for the heart attack thing." She took her first sip of the coffee, tentative and wary. He watched and imagined the hot coffee passing her lips and found a ludacris reason to be jealous of hot liquid. It didn't help that she closed her eyes and let a soft murmur vibrate up her throat. "Mmmm," she praised. "The heart attack's forgiven, too."

He gave her a side eye that she didn't see, then rested his head against the couch. The room's quietness along with the woman beside him lulled him into giving his eyes a rest, and they both sat in shared silence. Though it didn't give him quite the same heart attack he had given her, feeling her hand on his wrist sent a jolt to his gut. A soft thumb rubbed the back of his hand, and while he'd never be one to use therapy-speak like 'touch starved', his nerve endings were reminding him how long it had been since he last felt a woman's touch. An hour ago, every inch of himself had waged a rebellion against his attempt to ignore whatever it was between them; now, with her caress, it was a full on assault. Fortunately, she spoke again, giving him time to swallow the lump in his throat.

"You had a good day?" Before he could grunt a reply, she added, "The bullpen looked empty. Must mean you solved the case."

He couldn't help but smile at the easy equation, humming at the way her fingers were massaging into the base of his thumb. "Yep. You?"

"Oh, yeah. I solved the mystery of how many government administrators it takes to bore me to death."

He found his fingers linking with hers and found himself saying, "I'll rescue you next time."

"Promise?"

The soft question made hiis eyes open only to find hers closed in the same contented way he had felt. He enjoyed the time he had to look at her, both of them unguarded. He must have gone too long without speaking even by his standards, because her eyes slowly opened to see what was up. Caught in the act, he didn't bother looking away and he was glad, or he might have missed the pink tinge that dotted her cheeks. She looked down at their hands and seemed surprised to see them clasped loosely together because she tried to cover the discovery by hooking his watch band and turning it around to see the face.

"Looks like it's time to go home."

His gaze took her in one last time before following her lead out of whatever it was sparking between them and into something safer. "You eat yet?" Her stomach loudly growled at the question before she had a chance to reply. He grinned and stood. Taking her cup out of her hand and placing it beside his on the table, he helped her to her feet and said, "Call that pizza place you like. Get the pineapple. I'm buyin'."

She beamed at his offer. Placing a hand over her heart, she cooed, "You really are my hero."

Her smile was infectious even as he tried to grumble, "Keep that up and I'll change my mind."

His threat did nothing to diminish her joy because they both knew the truth. It didn't help that when he tried a stern, "Get goin'," she reached for his hand and tugged him out of the office and he didn't bother fighting it.

Rebellion? It was a goddamn insurrection, and he didn't even care.

…..

-end


End file.
